


Command

by Einhorn



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/F, Light Dom/sub, Masturbation, Sexual Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-17
Updated: 2015-08-17
Packaged: 2018-04-15 04:28:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4592856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Einhorn/pseuds/Einhorn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sera's got a type.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Command

**Author's Note:**

> wanted to write smut and was inspired by a prompt i saw on the kink meme a few weeks ago and regretfully can no longer find  
> sweats bullets

It’s been some time since Sera’s felt the touch of a lover. Partly to be blamed upon living on the streets and thus not trusting any stranger, even women, and partly to be blamed on well. She still was not quite all that convinced that she wouldn’t be turned out onto the streets at any moment, so what was the point of finding a partner, anyways?

Not that there’s any shortage of eligible ladies Sera would consider sharing a bed with. Especially the Seeker, Cassandra Pentaghast, with her strong jaw and strong arms and strong legs and strong hands, and her--well. Her  everything  really, and Sera wouldn’t mind being bossed around by that pretty voice of hers. 

She’s sitting alone in her temporary room in Haven’s tavern when she realizes how long it has been since she’s felt any sort of touch upon her body, by herself or otherwise. Hugging herself while trying not to hyperventilate and have a breakdown does not count. She’s thinking like…. nice  touching. The kind that makes her feel warm and tingly.

Like getting off. Which, come (hah) to think of it, she hasn’t done in a while either. So she locks her door, closes the curtains over the single window in her tiny borrowed space, and thanks the Maker that it’s an ungodly hour of the night where the chances of someone hearing her are very low. She likes being  loud,  thank you very much. 

Sera lays down upon her palette, briefly lamenting how uncomfortable it is (and chiding herself to be grateful, she’s had worse) before pulling off her tunic. The cold air hits her skin immediately and she shivers, cursing the chill of the Frostbacks and wishing for the warmth of Val Royeaux. She sits and shivers for a moment, trying to remember exactly what gets her off and why (it really  has  been a while…). 

Cassandra pops back in her head, and Sera is suddenly vividly reminded of her “type” by an unexpected surge of lust for the Seeker. Oh, how she wishes for those lovely lips to touch her own, for her strong hands to leave dark bruises upon Sera’s thighs, for Cassandra’s teeth to leave marks to claim the elf as hers. 

Sera bites her lip and whimpers a bit. A hot ache settles between her thighs and she rushes to lose her plaidweave pants, imagining that it’s not her own hands that pulls them down, but  Cassandra’s , and that the palms that cup her tits and pull at her bra are  Cassandra’s , and that--

“ Cassandra ,” she breathes, as her---no, the Seeker’s--hand slips into her smalls.  You want this, don’t you ? She imagines Cassandra saying in that commanding tone of hers. Sera shuts her eyes and nods quickly as she-- Cassandra , she reminds herself--spreads her palm and presses the hell of it against her clit. 

Let’s get these off of you , the voice says, and Sera pulls her smalls down and pretends it’s Cassandra that’s tossing them off to the side, that it’s Cassandra reaching around behind her to unclasp her bra, that it’s Cassandra that’s slowly kneading at one of her tits. 

It feels so  good , and Sera wonders why she hasn't done this sooner. Didn't realize how much her body needed this, how much her mind needed this, this sweet relief. Nevermind that she's fantasizing about one of the best and brightest of the Inquisition, nevermind that this probably never, ever, would happen in reality. 

Imaginary-Cassandra's hand presses harder against her core and the elf whines like a dog. Imaginary-Cassandra chuckles,  You’re so needy.  “Woof," Sera breathes, and imagines a collar of thick black leather buckled around her throat with Cassandra holding the leash.  This is silly, you know she'd never do that, or this,  a voice that's definitely  not  Cassandra speaks to her. Sera squashes it down--this is  her  fantasy, after all.

Imaginary-Cassandra trails a hand down Sera's chest and stomach, nails scraping to leave red lines in their wake. The elf arches her back, gasping and shivering, and imagines lips pressing soft kisses to the welts. "Please," she blurts out without thinking, " Maker \--"

Then Cassandra's hand is rubbing teasingly, not enough to get her off, not by a long shot, but  Andraste  does it feel good to be touched again. Sera drinks it in, relishes in the warmth spreading 'cross her skin and banishing the nightly chill. The hand slides a finger in and curls, making her gasp aloud.  You want more, don't you?

" Yes, " she pants, and imaginary-Cassandra slides another finger in. She thrusts in and out, slow at first, but gradually picks up the pace. Her other hand leaves Sera's tits to attend to her clit instead, and the elf's toes curl. 

Her pleasure is mounting, tension and heat threatening to burst between her legs, but Cassandra doesn't let her have it.  Beg , the voice says,  Beg for me.  Sera imagines a tug upon the imaginary leash. 

She does not beg, instead choosing to grit her teeth defiantly.  Beg!  Imaginary-Cassandra says again, louder and more demanding. Her fingers thrust deeper, almost painfully, and Sera sees stars. "Oh, Maker,  please,  Cassandra,  please, " she cries out, and then she's arching off her shitty bed with a few soft cries of ecstasy and a shout of her imaginary lover's name as her release flows through her, heating her to the very core and sending sparks all the way to the tips of her ears. 

She lays there panting, feeling the buzz between her legs settle down to a low ache that lets her know she's done a bang-up job of getting herself off. The fantasy is fading, imaginary-Cassandra laying down upon the bed next to her and falling into a doze, then fading away completely.

Regretfully, Sera pulls her blankets up over her shoulders, and tries not to think about how hard it will be to meet the Seeker’s eyes the next morning.


End file.
